In the Absence of Things
by earthly squib
Summary: It's a very odd day when Jonathan Kent's time travelling granddaughter crashes into the barn. There's a knife in her stomach, and blood everywhere, but she still manages to look at Jonathan like he's what's wrong with the situation. (Basically an excuse to have season 3!Jonathan Kent interact with the man his son will become.)
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: It's a very odd day when Jonathan Kent's time travelling granddaughter crashes into the barn. There's a knife in her stomach, and blood everywhere, but she still manages to look at Jonathan like _he's_ what's wrong with the situation. (Basically an excuse to have season 3! Jonathan Kent interact with the man his son will become. Because is Clark's kid goes time travelling, he's got to go bring her home, right? Right.)

**Author's Note: **Set during the summer Clark ran off to Metropolis. Cross-posted on ao3.

**Prologue**

The barn was filled with the pale, grey light of dawn, and the air was fresh with the smell of damp earth. The bitter taste of coffee lingered in his mouth. It had rained all night. He knew this because he spent most of it staring at the ceiling, listening to the hush of water hitting the roof. Two months ago, this would have made him happy—overjoyed, in fact—but now he could only muster a sliver of irritation at the mud that squelched under his boots on the walk from the house.

They were going to have to sell the farm.

They tried, God they tried. But they just couldn't keep the farm afloat without Clark. Even the thought of him made his chest ache. Clark, his impossible boy, vanished from their lives like the light of a dying star. Beautiful. Burning. Hurtling into their lives and then out of it, heedless of the sprawling wreckage left in its wake.

His son was gone. His house was about to be, and his wife couldn't make it through the day without crying. They'd started packing up some of their things last night, and they'd found a small, creased photograph of Clark when he was four years old, tiny and bundled in several layers of sweaters and jackets. He'd been grinning—that blinding grin that took up his whole face and stunned anyone who saw it. His little hands were waving in the air, his cheeks and nose were bright pink, and Jonathan remembered taking this picture. It was Clark's first time seeing snow.

When Martha saw it, she stifled a sob and stood shakily, exiting the room. Jonathan had been left, holding the photo in his hands, an ache settled deep in his chest and desperately trying to suppress the prickling in his eyes. Fourteen years have passed since the day they found Clark in that field and Jonathan never quite stopped being astounded that he could love one person so much, so much that it felt like his son reached into his chest and took half his father's heart with him when he left. So much that breathing hurt, without him. Where are you? he thought, looking down at the print of his son's tiny face. _Are you safe?_

With a sigh, Jonathan grabbed his gloves off his workbench and pulled them on, before reaching for some small bundles of hay. He had to feed the horses today, and the cows. They were short on chook feed. He'd have to go into town to get some more. He went over his mental list of things-to-do and wondered how he was ever going to get all of it done.

He'd just gathered the hay into his arms when there was a deafening sound—like the whip-crack of thunder and before he could take a moment to wonder what the noise was, his vision was filled by a bright, purple light. He recoiled, dropping the hay to shield his eyes. Dull thuds met his ears as they scattered around him, and he dug his heal into the ground to brace himself. _Was this an explosion?_ he thought. But there was no heat blistering his skin, only light, sharp and blinding. Then, as quickly as it flared into being, the light died away.

Bright spots speckled his vision; he blinked to clear them, and that's when he saw her. There was girl sprawled across the ground a few feet away from him. She was pale, dark haired, and her shirt was almost entirely covered in blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Apologies if I don't get Jonathan's voice right. It's been a while since I watched the early seasons. Also, yes, I know this is terrible. I'm sorry. I tried.

**Chapter One**

Look, Jonathan had been in a few odd situations before. He'd found teenagers stuck to the barn ceiling. One of his best friends had super-powered seizures caused by a LuthorCorp conspiracy. A flower made him crash his car, once. He led an… odd life, to say the least.

So, this? A half-dead girl materializing in front of him? Shouldn't cause all the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. And yet.

He stepped toward her, cautiously. He couldn't see her face through the tangled thicket of her hair, couldn't tell if she was conscious or not. But then the girl released a hiss—a rush of air between teeth – and raised her hand shakily to the knife protruding from her stomach.

As he got closer he managed to get a good look at her face, and – hell, she couldn't be any older than sixteen. _Same age as_… he stopped himself. He couldn't let himself go there. He swallowed, throat dry. He could hear her whispering, _shit, shit, shit. _

She must have heard his footsteps because out of nowhere she jerked, head jolting around to look at him with wide, pain-filled eyes. They were bright with unshed tears, and Jonathan didn't know who this girl was, or how the hell she landed in his barn, but the look on her face—the wide, wet eyes, the crinkled brow—tugged sharply at something deep inside his chest. In that moment, more than anything, he just wanted to make that look disappear.

He crouched down next to the girl and watched her tilt her body away from his. She was scared. She might have been a strange teenager that teleported into his barn at five o'clock in the morning, but she was scared, and bleeding, and she was just a kid. So, he decided there and then to put aside the bizarre nature of the situation, for the moment, and help her. He could ask questions later. Because boy, did he have questions.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, holding his hands up. "Don't worry, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you.

She blinked at him, blearily. It was the same look Clar—he reeled back from the thought, actually physically rocking back on his heals. Deep breath. Not today. Couldn't think about him today.

It was the look of someone who'd only just woken up and didn't understand what was going on around them.

In the most soothing voice he could muster, he said to the girl, "Sit tight okay? I'll be right back. Just got to go call an ambulance."

This was usually a sentence that inspired confidence and relief in people, Jonathan found. But it seemed to have the opposite effect on the girl in front of him.

Her pale face grew fearful again, and she shook her head, muttering, "No. No hospital. Can't. Can you—" she broke off, breathing in sharply. "Can you pull it out?"

"Pull it—" he paused, sure he'd misheard. "If I do that, you'll bleed out."

The girl shook her head again, the movement shaking a few tears out of her eyes to slide their way across clammy skin, and Jonathan couldn't help but think he was wasting time with this conversation. He needed to get her to a hospital. Now. But before he could stand, he heard her say quietly, tentatively, "I'll heal."

And there was something familiar about the wrinkle of her brow, and the blue-green of her watery eyes. The knot in his chest coiled tighter, and for a moment he wanted to go get Martha from inside. Wanted to share the load of this decision with someone else. He'd encountered enough meteor-infected kids in this town to not pass her off as delusional, but he couldn't be sure.

"You'll heal once the knife is taken out?" he asked, to make sure he'd understood correctly. She nodded, eyes crinkled shut with pain.

"It's a sp-special knife," she whispered, "stops my abilities from working."

_Abilities. _The word hit him like a blow to the stomach. He hadn't heard it in months. At least, he hadn't heard it used like _this_. Strangely, it confirmed something for him, made the whole thing believable and almost painfully familiar.

He sighed, already feeling regret at the decision he was about to make. Had already made. "You're sure?" he asked, anyway.

Again, she nodded. He wished she wouldn't. It looked like the movement took every ounce of energy she had.

"Just t-take it out and throw it away from me, as far as you can."

God, he hoped she isn't delusional. After a moment's pause and a prayer that he wasn't about to kill this little girl, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade and slid it free from her stomach. It made a horrible wet sound that made his stomach turn, and his own abdomen ache in sympathy, but all that fell away when the knife was freed from the clutch flesh and bone. The moment he laid eyes on it, he found he couldn't speak. He can't _breathe_, because it was blue, and glowing_._ It was glowing like—

"Meteor rock," he whispered, horrified.

"Throw it," she said, and then she coughed, flecks of blood speckling the skin around her lips. A steady gush of red was starting to leak from the now gaping wound.

The order was too familiar, too reminiscent of instances where he watched his son keel over at the sight of a green pulse of light. But meteor rock was green, or red. This was… something else. It had to be. He tightened his grip on the handle and lobbed the blade as far as he could, which was actually pretty damn far thanks to his quarterback days. He heard it clatter against something outside the barn.

He heard the girl release a shaky sigh and when he turned back to her, relief flooded him. Color was returning to her cheeks and the blood pooling on her abdomen seemed to be receding, making its way back into her body. He listened to the rattle of her lungs ease into something steady, and solid. His knees were beginning to ache from crouching and distantly, he noted that the sky outside was lightening to a vibrant blue. A beat passed.

"How the hell did you get here, kid?" he asked, tired of letting the silence stretch between them. "Care to tell me who did this to you?"

"Honest answer? Not sure," she replied, squinting at the ceiling, a hint of genuine confusion in the crease of her brow. "Can you help me up?"

_Normal thing to request after being stabbed_, he thought, but in the next moment he was gripping her arm, helping her rise onto unsteady feat. Stiltedly, they made their way outside. Jonathan made sure they were heading in the opposite direction to where he threw the knife.

As they stepped out from the cool shade of the barn and into the warm wash of sunlight, he was amazed to see the girl's weakness fall away like a curtain. She pressed a hand to her stomach and he watched as the skin beneath her fingers knitted itself back together. Within seconds, her abdomen was whole and smooth again. He'd never seen a meteor freak heal the way Clark could. It threw him a bit, but that the same time, he'd never been so relieved to find out that, yet another teenager had powers.

"That's better," she muttered, and he almost laughed at how casually she said it. She ran a hand over her face before adding, "I am never doing that again."

The hand fell away from her eyes and she stopped, blinking at the scene surrounding them.

"Is it… morning?" she asked, voice tinged with confusion.

"Pardon?" he asked, not really hearing her, too busy thinking about this being one of the strangest morning's he'd ever had, and he'd had some strange ones. He found his son in a cornfield.

"It was late afternoon," she said, "I don't under—"

She turned to look at him, and with eyes clear of tears and pain, Jonathan could tell this was the first time she'd really looked at him, because any calm abruptly left her face, like water spiraling down an empty sink. Her mouth fell open, and she stumbled back from him.

"Is this a trick?" she asked, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "You can't be here."

"I damn well can be here, young lady," he said, because dammit he'd had just about enough of this. "This is my property. You're the one who fell out of thin air."

She stared at him in confusion, and then, something like horror twisted her features. He thought he could hear her say, "Am I dead?" to the ground beneath her feet, but it was too quiet to be sure. Then, her head snapped up, realization dawning on her face.

"Wait," she said. "No, no, no, no, _no._"

Jonathan didn't really know how to respond to any of this.

"The ring," she breathed and rushed back into the barn.

"Hey!" he called after her, "Who the hell are you?"

The girl ignored him. He followed her inside to find her crouched, feeling around on the floor until her fingers closed around something small and she stood up, peering at a small glint of metal cupped in her hands. She swore again. "Cracked. Dad's going to kill me," she muttered. "If I never see him again. Shit. _Shit._"

"Kid," he said, voice hard. She turned to look at him, startled. "You appeared in my barn, in a blinding flash of light, with a glowing knife in your stomach. You owe me an explanation. Let's start with a name."

She bit her lip. "Can you tell me what year it is?" she asked, tentative.

"Wh—" Alright, not exactly what he was expecting. "How hard did you hit your head? It's 2003."

Her eyes widened, but she only said, "Huh."

Maybe it was something like that scarecrow kid, he thought. Maybe she'd been in a coma. Or, memory loss? He was running through all of the possibilities when she cleared her throat and said, "Ella," totally out of the blue, before holding her hand out to shake. What was she—?

"That's my name. Ella Joanne Kent."

The whole world ground to a halt. "What?" he asked, voice cracking.

"I'm, um," she licked her lips and held up the object in her hands. It was a ring. "This ring, it—I know this is going to sound stupid, but it lets the wearer time travel. I had it when they attacked me, and it's ah, well it's broken now. But I was thinking that I needed to get away and Dad was talking about you a lot this afternoon, so you were on my mind? I ah," she was rambling a little and seemed to realize this, because she trailed off, pink-cheeked.

The pieces of her face that looked so familiar suddenly made a terrible amount of sense.

"I know this is going to sound all kinds of crazy," Ella said.

He knew. It was absolutely insane, but he knew what she was going to say before the words even left her mouth.

"But I'm kind of your granddaughter."

She was right. It was the craziest thing he'd ever heard.

But.

.

_She had Clark's eyes. _


End file.
